


The Return

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Post-War, Romance, Suicide, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-15
Updated: 2008-08-15
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ron knows what must be done, and no one will stop him.





	The Return

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> Part Seven of the "Lapis & Emerald" series.
> 
> All stories in this series can be found in the proper order under "L" in the "series" link
> 
> Beta: weetziecat
> 
> Additional Warning: Exhumation.

**The Return**

“Fine! You stay here if you want, but I’m going back! I’m going back and making this right!”

Hermione, tears now flowing freely down her face, continued to plead with him. “Please, Ron. There’s just something… _wrong_ about what you want to do.”

“No!” Ron pulled the green jumper over his head, having just changed out of his dress robes. “What’s wrong is what _they_ did! They had no right! They never asked _me_ , and they had no right! All I’m doing is fixing what they did!”

“But Ron, are you sure you’re fixing it?” Hermione countered. “Maybe you should just keep…”

“There’s no way that I’m spending the rest of my life with something that belongs to _him_!” Ron cut her off, knowing full well that he was masking his pain in the way to which he was best accustomed, with anger.

“Please, Ron,” Hermione begged. “Why don’t you think about it for, say, a week? If you still want to do it then, I’ll help you.”

“A week?” Ron shouted. “I don’t want to see him a week from know. How do you know he won’t have… changed? I couldn’t stand to see him like that, Hermione! I have to go today!”

“But it’s going to be dark in an hour,” Hermione reasoned. “Couldn’t you at least wait until tomorrow?”

“No!” Ron said as defiantly as he knew how. “I won’t let him go one night without it. It’s his. It’s always been his, and I want him to have it back!”

At that moment, a loud crack could be heard outside. Ron and Hermione both instinctively drew their wands with an ease born of practice. Even now, with Voldemort gone and most of his Death Eaters either dead or in prison, unannounced Apparitions raised the hairs on the backs of both of their necks. When the knock at the door came, Ron silently directed Hermione to stand back and cover him as he approached.

“Who is it?” Ron said in clipped tones.

“It’s me, Remus. Remus Lupin,” the familiar voice said from the other side of the door.

“Are you alone?” Ron wasn’t certain why he asked that particular question, but he was not particularly disposed towards trusting Lupin at the moment.

“Yes, I’m alone. May I come in?”

Ron glared at Hermione as she began to lower her wand, nodding at her to keep it raised, and then he turned the knob and opened the door a crack.

“What do _you_ want?” Ron said quickly, anger dripping from each word.

“I’d like to talk to you,” Remus said, his head hanging and his voice contrite. “I know I made a mistake, and I’d like to help make it right.”

“Help make it right?” Ron shot back. “And just how do you think you can do that?”

“If you let me in, I will try to explain,” Remus said softly, seemingly aware of how hard Ron was struggling to control himself.

“Fine,” Ron said, pulling the door open, seeing no real reason, beyond his own current disgust with his former teacher, to refuse his entrance.

“Thank you,” Remus said, as he walked into the small living room. “Please, Ron, I want you to understand that I thought I was doing the right thing. I know now that I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

“Damn lot of good that does,” Ron growled, stalking across to the credenza, and reaching for the bottle of firewhiskey that had sat there unopened for the last year. Ron really wasn’t much of a drinker, but now seemed a reasonable time to start.

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione scolded. “Remus is trying to apologize. How dare you talk to him like that?”

“No, it’s all right, Hermione,” Remus said. “I understand Ron’s anger. I think I’d feel the same way if it was me. I just didn’t know…”

“Exactly!” Ron spun around, spilling the whiskey he had been pouring into a glass. “You didn’t know, and so you should have just left it alone!”

“I know that now, Ron,” Remus’ quiet voice was beginning to bother Ron more than his own outrage. “All I want to do is to help make it right. I’ll go with you.”

Ron stared at Lupin for several moments. Was it possible that he already knew what Ron had planned to do. How could he? Even Ron hadn’t known an hour ago. Not prepared to share his plan with anyone other than Hermione, and certainly not with Lupin, he thought he’d do best to play it safe.

“Go where with me? What are you talking about?”

“Ron,” Remus spoke in a slightly reproving voice. “Have you forgotten that I am the last surviving Marauder? I could tell by the way you shouted at me, and by the look in your eye, what you had planned five minutes after I gave you… well, after I told you what I had done. I don’t know why I was asked to make the decision, but I do know that I made the wrong one. And I really do think that I can help.”

“Help how?” Ron asked, still trying to determine if Lupin knew anything, or if he was guessing.

“In any way I can,” Lupin replied. “I think I know a few spells that might make the task a little easier.”

“Remus,” Hermione fixed him with a gaze. “You can’t actually tell me that you approve of this! Ron is angry, and you’re feeling guilty. This is not the time for either of you to be making decisions like this.” Her voice cracked on the last few words. “I love him, too, but this just seems… disrespectful.”

“Actually,” Remus replied, sounding completely rational, “I think it is the most respectful thing I could do for him now. It was disrespectful of me to have taken it in the first place, and now it must be returned.”

“Well, then,” Hermione said, throwing her shoulders back. “If you are both planning to do this, then I’m coming with you.”

“You really don’t have to, Hermione,” Ron said, feeling a rush of gratitude, but also a deep seated concern. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

“And since when has anything I’ve done with you and Harry been easy?” Hermione said in a flat voice. Ron would have felt better if she had added a touch of irony to her tone, but she had clearly not intended that he find any humour in her statement. “If _you_ have to do this, then _I_ have to do this.”

Ron set the bottle and glass on the credenza, walked back to Hermione and pulled her into a grateful embrace. “I’m sorry I shouted at you. I was just so… so…”

“I know, Ron,” she replied, stroking the back of his head. “I think I felt the same way. Maybe I’m just not as… passionate as you.”

“Ronald? Ronald Weasley? Are you there?” A voice sounded from the fireplace, and Ron and Hermione jumped apart in surprise. Together they walked to the fireplace where they saw Minerva McGonagall’s face surrounded by green flames. “Oh, good, you’re still there. May I come through?”

“Y—yes, Professor,” Ron said weakly, mostly because he had never been able to say no to a request from the Hogwarts Headmistress.

“Thank you,” McGonagall replied. Her head disappeared for a second before her entire person stepped out of the hearth. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

“Left?” Ron asked, wondering where she thought he was going.

“Of course,” McGonagall spoke as if her thoughts were perfectly clear to anyone with ears. “I assume we are going back to Godric’s Hollow.”

“Professor?” Ron couldn’t form a coherent reply.

“Oh, please, Ronald,” McGonagall shook her head. “Did you think it possible, after what we all heard you shout at poor Remus, that we wouldn’t be able to deduce what you would do next? I may not be Albus Dumbledore, but I am not totally oblivious.”

“We?” Ron asked, totally nonplussed now.

“Certainly,” McGonagall replied easily. “Unless I am much mistaken, your parents, your sister, your brothers, Nymphadora, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Thomas and Mr. Finnigan are already there. If you hadn’t left the luncheon so quickly, we might all have had a chance to tell you that we were prepared to help in any way we could.”

“Help?” Ron was even more confused after McGonagall’s explanation than before.

“Of course, help,” she replied as if Ron should fully understand. “Surely you didn’t think that your friends would let you do something like this alone.”

“L—like what?” Ron was beginning to wonder if someone had placed a notice in _The Daily Prophet_.

“Like returning what must be returned,” McGonagall smiled sympathetically. “And none of us think you should be alone while you do so.”

“You see, Ron,” Remus said, still speaking softly, guilt etched into each syllable, “We all love him, and we all love you, and we want to make things right.”

Any anger that Ron had been feeling towards Lupin dissolved, and it was all he could do not to collapse in tears. The last four days had been blur of emotions and arrangements, and Ron hadn’t really had the chance to deal with the emotions, focused as he was on the details, ensuring that everything would be the way he presumed Harry would want it. It was the least he could do, and in the end, it had still felt inadequate.

If the Ministry of Magic had had it’s way, everything would have taken place in London, with long speeches and testimonials from people that Harry had never known. They would have chosen some ridiculously inappropriate spot for a huge granite memorial, carved with dozens of words that wouldn’t come close to describing who Harry was, or what he had done.

Fortunately, Ron and Hermione’s decisions carried more weight than even the Minister’s, and there hadn’t even been the need for magically amplified voices to reach the small number of people in attendance. Ron realized that he had seriously jeopardized any hopes he might have entertained about working in a Ministry job, but somehow such concerns had seemed trivial at the time. His father’s support of this assessment helped to steel his resolve, and even Percy had encouraged him to follow his own instincts, rather than bend to the Minister’s pressure to turn the event into yet another part of the celebrations following Voldemort’s demise.

One thing there had been no question about was the place. Harry had told him exactly what his wishes were concerning that.

“With my parents, Ron. No matter what else happens, you make sure they know that, yeah?”

“It’s not going to happen, Harry,” Ron had assured him. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry replied, his face pressed against Ron’s chest. “But if something should happen to me, you make sure they bury me with my parents. You _promise_ me.”

“I promise, Harry.” Ron hadn’t let Harry see the tears in his eyes as he made the promise.

Beyond that, everything else had been guesswork. Ron felt confident, however, that there was nothing that Harry would have hated more than loads of Ministry officials making long, phony speeches about what Harry had done for the wizarding world. Instead, the only people there were those who knew Harry personally, who had actually spoken with him, and who had fought by his side. Those who knew him best were well aware of what Harry had done for them all, and long speeches were not necessary. Stories had been shared, tears had been shed, and everybody felt better for it.

Afterward, there was a luncheon, where even more stories were told. Ron had even managed to laugh a few times as he, Seamus, Neville, Dean and Hermione had recalled moments from those mostly happy years at Hogwarts. Ron had been well aware that his worst moments were yet to come, when he had to be alone with his own thoughts, his own grief, but for that moment, he was getting by. That was, of course, until Remus Lupin had come to him and handed him the ring.

Ron stared at the lapis lazuli stone for a full minute before he began to yell at Lupin. He didn’t quite remember what he had said, but he was sure that there was a great deal of swearing involved. As far as he knew, Harry hadn’t taken the ring off since they had returned to Peridot’s Fine Jewelry to have it engraved. After that, Harry had insisted that the ring remain on his finger, even when the healers in the field hospital had tried to remove it, to tend to the lacerations on his hand.

“No!” Harry had shouted. “You just work around it!” In the end, he had temporarily moved it to his middle finger, but not for more than a few minutes. After that, the glint of gold and blue on his right ring finger was as identifiable with him as the scar on his forehead, until the day when he died in the act of finally freeing the world from the evil that was Voldemort.

For some unfathomable reason, the wizard undertaker had asked Lupin what should be done with the ring before Harry’s casket was sealed. Equally unfathomable was Lupin’s decision to remove the ring, and give it to Ron _after_ Harry had been laid in the grave. Within minutes, Ron had Disapparated, returning to the home he and Harry had shared for less than a year and a half. Hermione, who had Apparated into the house mere seconds after him, simply sat by him as he stared at the ring and cried. It was only when he announced his plan that she had begun to argue with him.

Now, she seemed to be the only one not fully committed to returning the ring to its rightful owner. Even in his grief and resolve, Ron understood that Hermione was distressed with the idea of seeing Harry’s lifeless face yet again. Ron had to admit that the prospect terrified him. Not because of any silly superstitions, but because he wasn’t sure that if he saw Harry again, he would be able to let him go. Still, he knew what had to be done, and he would face down his fears to do it.

“Well, if everyone’s waiting, we’d better go.” Ron walked over to the coat tree next to the door and took down his traveling cloak, throwing it around his shoulders and fixing the clasp. One by one, Hermione, Remus and McGonagall Disapparated. After a brief glance around the room, Ron spun, his destination, determination and deliberation all focused on that small plot of land at Godric’s Hollow that he could describe in detail from memory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As his focus returned, Ron could see that everyone else had arrived before him. Despite the fact that he was overwhelmed by their willingness to support him, he could manage neither a smile nor any grateful words. Instead, he walked purposefully towards the spot he had last seen only a few hours before, though it felt like a lifetime since he had visited it last.

Three simple stone markers stood side by side in what appeared to be grass that hadn’t been overturned in decades, although at least one of the plots had been nothing but bare earth the last time Ron had seen it. Two of the markers bore the names of Lily and James Potter. The third, obviously newer than the others, was engraved with a simple epitaph.

__**Harry James Potter  
1980 – 2000  
Beloved Son  
Beloved Friend  
Beloved Seeker**

The last was, of course, Ron’s choice. The rest of the world didn’t need to know what it meant. In fact, the rest of the world had no right to know what it meant. Ron knew. Harry knew. That was all that mattered. If history chose to forget Harry’s role in saving them all from evil, no tombstone would be sufficient to remind them anyway. Better that any semi-permanent memorial would hold meaning for those who understood it, rather than for generations of those who could now live in peace, never fully appreciating the one who gave them that chance.

As Ron stood gazing at the marker, he felt an arm around his waist and another around his shoulder. His mother and father had moved to stand on either side of him, wordlessly offering what comfort they could. Ron was proud of his mother, who could, at times, be so emotional. Not one muted sob escaped her, and he was grateful that she understood that, at the moment, he needed her strength more than her sympathy.

“Let’s do this,” Ron finally said, stepping back to what he guessed was a proper distance.

“Remus, Tonks, Percy,” Arthur Weasley said softly, “I think the four of us will be enough.” Ron watched as his father and the three others aimed their wands at the ground. They muttered the spell simultaneously, and a rectangular section of ground began to separate and rise, until a six foot high block of earth stood before them all. It hovered for a moment, and then moved aside, finally settling on the ground several feet away as a simple mound of dirt.

Fred, George, Charley, and Bill all stepped forward next. They pointed their wands into the now open grave, and there was a slight grinding noise as the lid of the vault rose up. Together, they levitated the heavy stone slab past the fresh mound of dirt and set it softly on the ground.

“Ron, would you like to do it?” Remus asked softly.

“Yeah,” Ron answered, just a bit surprised to hear himself speaking. “But I could use some help. Hermione, could you help me? And I think it’d be best if Professor McGonagall and Remus helped, too.”

As the four of them took positions around the grave in the twilight, Ron could see how wet Hermione’s cheeks were. He felt horrible that he was putting her through this, despite how much he knew it had to be done. Hermione had loved Harry every bit as much as Ron had, though in a very different way. He wanted desperately to make this easier for her.

“Hermione, remind me again,” Ron said to her, forcing his lips into a slanted smile. “Is it _Wingardium Leviosa_ , or _Win- **gar** -dium Levi- **o** -sa_?”

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione said, shaking her head, though Ron could see a pained smile form on her wet face. “This isn’t the time.”

“It’s the perfect time,” Ron explained. “I just want to make sure I don’t mess up. Say it with me, all right?” Hermione nodded, and together with McGonagall and Lupin, they all spoke the spell aloud, and raised the holly wood coffin from it’s vault, until it finally hovered just above ground level. Carefully, they moved it to the right over a smooth patch of ground, and then lowered it gently to rest on the grass.

For a moment, Ron felt a sudden sense of uncertainty. Until this moment, everything that had been moved had merely been an object, like any other inanimate object. He looked around at his friends and family, who all stood frozen in place as if they shared his trepidation. Once the lid of the casket had been opened, they would all see the face they knew so well, and it seemed as if none of them were sure of what their reactions might be. It felt as if the entire world was holding its breath.

What Ron did know was that no one would presume to step in at this moment. What he needed to do was up to him alone, and if he wanted to change his mind, no one would question him, and everything could be put back to the way it was. Still, he knew if he took that path, he would never forgive himself for the moment of weakness. He stood beside the coffin and raised his wand again.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” he said quietly, and he could hear the seal release. Returning his wand to his pocket, he leaned forward and opened the casket’s lid.

“Boys,” Arthur said softly, and he and his sons raised their wands, lighting the tips so Harry’s features stood out in the gathering gloom of the evening.

Harry lay in death, looking for all the world as if he were merely asleep. Centuries of practice had taught wizard embalmers a great many things about preserving bodies after death, and major advancements had been made since the days of the ancient Egyptian wizards, who could do little more than mummify corpses. Ron had seen mummies when he had traveled to Egypt with his family, and hadn’t thought that they looked human at all, with their dried, discolored skin stretched taut over the facial bones.

Harry looked like Harry had always looked, if a bit more peaceful. His countenance betrayed none of the pain he had borne in life. He had been buried in the most beautiful emerald green dress robes, his beloved Firebolt held in the crook of his left arm, and his wand clasped in his right hand. Ron could see the pale circle on Harry’s right ring finger, where the gold band with the lapis stone had always been, and now, would always be.

Ron knelt down, a sense of surrealism flooding through him. Maybe if Harry _looked_ dead this would be easier. As it was, he would not have been surprised to see those brilliant green eyes flutter open, a beautiful smile spread across his beloved’s face, and to hear Harry’s cheerful voice say, “All right, Ron?”

But there was, of course, no movement, no smile, no voice. This was simply what was left of Harry when Harry had nothing left to give. Ron didn’t even try to think of something to say. He had spoken to Harry for more than an hour that night, before members of the Order had finally persuaded him to let go of his body, that there was nothing more he could do. The next time he had seen him, Harry was already in his casket and Ron was being asked if everything was satisfactory. He had mumbled some words of thanks to the undertaker for doing a fine job, and then turned his back as the coffin was closed and sealed.

Raising both of his hands, Ron looked at the rings that he and Harry had exchanged on that Valentine’s Day so many years ago. No, it wasn’t that long really. It had only been about four years, though now it felt like a lifetime. He smiled as he remembered Harry’s insistence that Ron was wearing his on the wrong finger, and the number of times he had brought up the subject again. Still, Ron had insisted on wearing his emerald ring on his middle finger, and Harry had eventually given up.

Now Ron focused on the lapis lazuli on the middle finger of his left hand. “Lapis and Emerald, they go quite well together, yeah?” Harry had observed when they wore the rings for the first time. In the eerie glow of the wand light, Ron had to agree yet again. Tears began to flow down his cheeks as guilt which had been building in him for days now threatened to overwhelm him. _They_ should be together. Ron should have either been able to save Harry, or should have died with him. Lapis and emerald were not meant to be separated! Why was he still alive?

Ron jerked involuntarily as he felt an arm snake around his waist. Hermione had knelt down next to him, smiling at him through her tears.

“It’s all right, Ron. I’ll help you. We’ll help each other.”

Ron took a deep breath and nodded to Hermione. Slowly, he pulled the lapis lazuli ring from his left middle finger, squinting to read the inscription inside by the bluish-white light. “ _I’m Keeping My Seeker_.” That much, at least, was true. Ron would always keep his Seeker in his heart. He reached out to Harry’s right hand and shuddered for a moment at how cold the flesh there felt. Swallowing hard, he held out the ring, thinking only for an inappropriately playful second of placing it on the middle finger instead, before he realized that he couldn’t bear to think of that pale ghost ring on Harry’s ring finger remaining uncovered for eternity. Carefully, reverently, he slid the ring onto it’s owners finger, and then let his hands rest on Harry’s for a few brief moments.

Ron had failed. It had been his role to protect Harry, to keep him safe from harm, and even from himself. Without him, Ron had no vision of his own future. If he couldn’t wake up each morning knowing Harry was there, then what point was there in waking up? Through tear blurred eyes, he looked at Harry’s peaceful face, and he envied him. There would be no ghost of Harry Potter, because Harry had always been ready to cross over to where he could be with his parents, and with Sirius, and with Dumbledore. He now had eternity to share with the people he loved, and Ron had nothing but a lifetime of grief and loss.

Ron looked up at everyone gathered around the casket. He saw the warm, supportive love in his parents’ eyes, the understanding nods of his siblings, the grim but sympathetic looks on his former professors’ faces. He knew that most everyone there would not leave him in peace for the next few weeks, in their well-intentioned, if misguided, attempts to make sure he was all right, that he was bearing his grief well, and not falling into despair. The idea of it chilled Ron to the bone. He couldn’t stand the thought of being coddled and scrutinized while he vainly sought some unattainable sense of wholeness. He would never be whole without Harry.

Reaching into his robe pocket, he clasped the small crystal phial in his right hand as he had done countless times over the last few days. It had become a comfortable weight in his pocket, and it had anchored him enough to endure the events he had just lived through. Now it represented a source of freedom, the only thing that could lift him beyond his grief-ridden world. He carefully pushed the cork from the top of phial with his thumb, took it from his pocket, brought it to his lips and swallowed its entire contents.

“NO!” Ron heard Hermione scream at his side, but even by then, his muscles were beginning to relax, and he slumped back onto his haunches. “He’s taken something!” Hermione yelled to the others. “We need a Healer! Now!” Ron’s mother and father raced to his side, and held him as he began to fall backwards, until he lay in the grass.

“Oh, Ronnie, Ronnie, what have you done?” His mother cried.

“It’s all right, Mum,” Ron smiled up at her. “It’s the way it should be, the way it has to be.” He knew she wouldn’t understand, at least not right now, but one day she might. He was only vaguely aware of the wands being waved over his chest and abdomen, knowing that the efforts of McGonagall, Lupin and Tonks were for naught. He had chosen the potion carefully, knowing that its antidote took a full month to brew, and that no spell, or even a bezoar, could counteract its effect.

Looking up into his father’s face, Ron was pleased that he appeared stoic, as if he knew he could do nothing more than hold his son as he crossed over. He was proud of his father, and more proud than ever to be a Weasley. He knew that in the years to come, the wizarding world would revere that name as they had once foolishly revered names like Malfoy.

“Dad, could you do one thing for me?”

“Anything, son,” his father’s voice cracked a little, and his eyes were moist, but Ron saw no weakness in that. _He_ was the weak one, too terrified to try to live without Harry at his side.

“Could you tell them,” Ron realized he was having trouble speaking now. “Can you make sure they know that I want to be buried here, next to Harry.” Ron felt a twinge of guilt as his mother let out a loud sob at hearing his request. His father, however, maintained enough composure to make his promise.

“Yes, Ron. Here. Right here, next to Harry.” Now his father lost the struggle to hold back his tears. “I love you, son.”

“I love you, too, Dad. And you too, Mum. Please, don’t be angry,” he pleaded with his mother. “Don’t you see? I’m going to keep doing what I was always meant to do. I’m going to look after Harry. Always.”

Outside of the field of his increasingly limited vision, Ron could hear furious scrambling, not at all sure of what anyone might be trying to do. It seemed silly that so many people would be making such a fuss. It was, after all, inevitable. It was the only thing that really made sense in the last few days. After all, they were always meant to be together. Keeper and Seeker. Hero and sidekick. Champion and defender. Harry and Ron. Ron smiled, and just as his eyes closed, he thought, _Now and forever, lapis and emerald_.

__**Ronald Bilius Weasley  
1980-2000  
Beloved Son and Brother  
Beloved Friend  
Beloved Keeper**


End file.
